


A Day in Paradise

by randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by my friend's vacation in the Bahamas and Kenny Chesney's song "When the Sun Goes Down".  Voltron pilots on the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  WEP owns Voltron.

The sky is cloudless, a shade of blue that would normally have Lance smiling thinking of his childhood, when he would spend hours laying on his back, staring up and dreaming.

 

The sand of the beach isn’t exactly _white_, but it’s a pale enough shade of gold to make the term nearly correct.  Individual grains sparkle, reflecting the bright sunlight into unsuspecting eyes.

 

The sea is a shade of turquoise rarely seen, and so calm that the waves lap gently at the beach, sure of their welcome, but unwilling to intrude.  The sound is quiet and soothing.

 

The air is just warm enough against his bare skin, almost hot, but not quite hot enough to cause sweat.  If it was only slightly hotter, the ocean would look temptingly cool by comparison; as it is, the water manages to look warm and inviting, promising ease and relaxation.

 

There are a number of palm trees clustering at the edge of the beach, where the fine sand gives way to wild grasses.  The fronds cast a significant shadow even at the height of the day, providing a perfect point from which to watch the waves slowly tumble in, where one might safely fall asleep and not have to worry about too much sun.

 

Keith, of course, has been in his beach chair for hours in that very spot.

 

It’s extremely close to noon when Lance finally stumbles from the bungalow, sand chair clutched awkwardly under one arm.  To shield his sensitive eyes from the sun, he’s wearing a pair of dark glasses, as well as a hat with a wide brim, made of loosely woven straw.  A white tank top, sandals and gaily patterned swim trunks complete the picture.

 

He makes his way uneventfully down the path to the beach, grunts at Keith’s cheery greeting and sets up his chair with slightly more than the usual difficulty.  Gingerly, he lowers himself into it, as if expecting it to snap him in half at any moment.  When it shows no sign of doing so, he heaves a great sigh and leans back, closing his eyes. 

 

There is a very faint snicker in Keith’s voice as he asks, “Did you have a good time last night?”

 

Lance sighs again, this time in a mingling of remembered fun and faint exasperation.  “Yes.”  He carelessly kicks off his sandals, letting them fall where they will.

 

There is silence for a moment, as Keith shifts in his chair.  Lance digs his toes into the warm sand, and finds a smile at the sensation.

 

“You don’t think that maybe – just maybe – you had a few too many of those fruity drinks last night?”

 

For an instant, Lance considers shaking his head, but imagining what that might do to his hard-won equilibrium sends his stomach into somersaults once more.  He very simply pretends not to have heard.

 

Keith chuckles evilly, as if his silence was answer enough.  Reluctantly, Lance decides that it probably is.

 

For several minutes, the only sounds are that of the surf upon sand and the pleasant smelling breeze rustling through the palm fronds above their heads.  The heat of the air gradually suffuses Lance’s muscles, leeching any remaining tension out of him.

 

Not, he grants, that there is likely to be much after last night.

 

Keith lets out a breath, sounding immeasurably happy, which drags Lance’s eyes open and makes them slide to the side.  He watches Keith raise his arms over his head, still seated but stretching.  His golden skin has already gained a more burnished shade from even the short time they have been there, and it contrasts beautifully with the white of his smile.  There are even highlights to be found in his midnight hair, the sun uncovering what has long been hidden. 

 

Settling back, arms behind his head, Keith says, “I’m glad we were able to get away, if only for a little while.  Aren’t you?”

 

“Mmmm.”  Most of Lance’s attention is taken up by covertly studying the lean body next to him.  Sleek muscles flex beneath bronzed skin, giving evidence of long hours of training.  Ebony hair, unruly as ever, waves in the light wind.  But the greatest change, Lance finds, unsurprised, is in his face.  No longer are his heavy brows contracted in a semi-permanent frown, no longer are there deep shadows or lines carving themselves into his haggard features.  The stress and anxiety of his command have drained away, leaving a difference in him as stark as lightning against a stormy sky.

 

And the difference, Lance decides, is good.

 

He recalls himself, but not before the weight of his gaze has been noticed; he sees the corner of Keith’s mouth twitch in amusement, and reluctantly turns away.  His eyes drift shut again, lulled by the lapping waves.

 

“Why do you think Allura was so insistent that we take leave?”

 

He grunts once more, something that sounds vaguely like “Don’t know.”

 

Despite the fact that he only woke up a short time before, Lance can feel that he’s being slowly tugged back towards a semi-somnolent state, not quite asleep, but certainly not entirely awake.

 

He’s not sure whether he wants to let himself slip away or if he wants to remain conscious.

 

He’s certain, however, that if he were to try to answer Keith’s questions more coherently, he would be pulled willy-nilly into any number of activities that would be abhorrently strenuous: simply much too physical for his current state.

 

But this, now, _this_ is nice.  Just sitting in the sand, reclining at just the right angle, with breathing being the most taxing thing to do… oh, yes.  Very good, indeed.

 

“… don’t you think?  Lance?”

 

“Hm?” He realizes that Keith has been speaking while he’s been considering how little to do, but finds it hard to really care.

 

Keith laughs again, and it’s a sound that Lance discovers he wouldn’t mind hearing more of.  “I guess it’s not important,” he teases, and laughs again as Lance peeks out at him from beneath the brim of his hat.

 

Once again, there is only the shuffle of the fronds, the hush of the surf.

 

Lance has just decided that Keith is going to let him fall back to sleep when he hears, “What are we going to do tonight?”

 

Summoning up as much irritation as he can muster – which, admittedly, isn’t much – Lance replies shortly, “I don’t know.”

 

The articulateness of this response apparently goads Keith into further questions.  “Oh, come on.  You must have some idea of things you want to do, don’t you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Really?”  He sounds disbelieving.  Which, Lance reflects with a silent sigh, he’s well within his rights to do.  _After all, I’m the one who planned out last night’s club route…_

 

But “Really,” is how he answers, and he hopes that by pulling his hat brim down again, he will discourage further questions.

 

It seems to work.

 

“You… uh… you sure?  There isn’t _anything_ you want to try tonight?”

 

That does it.  Lance sits up, pushes back his hat and glares over his sunglasses, in spite of the way that his eyes throb with pain.  “Keith,” he says evenly, “I really and truly and honestly care for you, but if you ask me one more question, I will _not_ fuck you tonight.”

 

Keith simply stares at him, dumbfounded.  There is a faint tinge of a blush visible against his tanned skin.

 

Satisfied that he might be able now to recover from his hangover in peace, Lance sits back in his chair and settles his protective gear into place once more.  His eyes start to close again.

 

The waves crash softly, the palm trees rustle.

 

Then, quite suddenly, there is something astride his hips.  Startled, he opens his eyes, just as his hat is tipped away, his sunglasses removed.  Keith is straddling him, knees in the sand, grinning down at him.  Leaning down, he brushes his full lips over Lance’s mouth, which is slightly open in shock, then continues, ghosting kisses across his cheek and back to his ear.

 

A husky whisper sends shivers down Lance’s spine.  “So, it’s good that it’s my turn to be top tonight,” and it’s followed by a nibble.

 

Lance licks lips that have suddenly gone dry.  “I… uh…”

 

Bottomlessly dark eyes twinkle down at him.  “And that wasn’t a question, you know.”

 

Lance arches up into him, and grins unrepentantly when those eyes flare wide.  “Good thing, too.”

 

His toes curl in the sand from the kiss this time.

 

***

July 13, 2004


End file.
